


Barlyle Prompts

by gay_jeans



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: Angst, Barnum x Carlyle, Boy x boy, Drama, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluffy, How Do I Tag, Love, M/M, Phineas x Phillip, Romance, Tumblr Prompts, angsty, barlyle - Freeform, bisexual circus dads, i write these when i'm bored, or have writer's block for my other wips, prompt lists, relationship, so enjoy? hopefully?, so why do i put them through angst and pain, there's lots of fluff though!!, these boys are precious, usually an established relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-04-28 11:04:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14447946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gay_jeans/pseuds/gay_jeans
Summary: These are little fics inspired by dialogue prompts on tumblr. I will give credit to each list and their creator as they are written. If you'd like to request one, I ask that you do so on tumblr (anon is totally fine!) so that I can easily access them.Rating/warnings may change depending on the content as it all comes along. There will be warnings before each fic, if there are any at all.





	1. Prompt Lists

The 60 prompts below were created by BuddysImpala on tumblr. If you'd like to request one, feel free to send it in to my tumblr account, crown-of-the-circus-king. You can go on anon, if you want! I don't mind. These won't be very long, obviously, but whenever I've got writer's block for any of my (many) WIPs, I'll be writing up my requests. I currently don't have any, so please send 'em in!

(Anything bolded has already been written and posted. Italicised prompts have been requested and I am currently working on those!)

1\. "Please don't leave me."

2\. "Guess what I got!"

3\. "Why would you hide something like this from me?"

_4\. "He's missing."_

5\. "I still think about them. Every day."

6\. "You hurt me. And I don't think I can ever forgive that."

7\. "Did you...set your pants on fire?"

8\. "Ugh, can I open my eyes now?"

9\. "Don't you love me anymore?"

10\. "You're the ringmaster. Act like it."

11\. "But I lo—you know what? Forget it."

12\. "I saw you with her."

13\. "I'm fine."

**14\. "I don't know if I can keep going without you."**

15\. "I missed you. Where did you go?"

16\. "We absolutely do not need more elephants."

17\. "You know I can't swim."

18\. "Will you catch me if I fall?"

19\. "God, you're such a drama queen."

20\. "You saved me from myself."

21\. "Help me."

22\. "But what if I fail?"

23\. "Did you steal my {coat/hat}?"

24\. "Please don't shut me out."

25\. "That is, without a doubt, the worst idea I've ever heard."

26\. "Lie with me. Please?"

27\. "God, you're such a whore."

28\. "Why did you come back?"

29\. "Sometimes I see no point in living."

30\. "It's raining. What do we do now?"

31\. "I didn't want you to find out this way."

32\. "You don't talk about them much. Your parents."

33\. "You don't know what it's like to lose a child."

34\. "You're much too drunk to think clearly."

35\. "Because I care about you."

36\. "We can't, not here. They'll see us."

37\. "You saved my life / Thank you for saving my life."

38\. "I can defend myself."

39\. "I'm sorry. (For everything)."

**40\. "Sorry, I - I thought you were Lettie."**

41\. "You're so cute when you're mad."

42\. "How's the weather up there?"

43\. "You know, most couples who bathe together don't actually bathe."

44\. "Are you trying to kill us?"

45\. "Are you trying to hit on me?" OR "That is the worst pickup line I've ever heard."

46\. "Nice job, asshole."

47\. "Personally, I prefer Dr. Seuss over Shakespeare."

48\. "We're a circus full of freaks. So why do I feel so alone?"

49\. "Suck my dick." "That can be arranged."

50\. "I didn't take you as the quiet type."

51\. "When you're out there, your eyes light up. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

52\. "I don't know why you put up with me."

53\. "I hate it when you cry."

54\. "I'm sick, not dying."

55\. "I can't keep pretending I don't love you."

56\. "You're acting like I don't exist."

57\. "I thought you loved me. Clearly, I was wrong."

58\. "Can we get a {puppy/kitten}?"

59\. "You're the only person I know who cries during sex."

60\. "This {isn't/can't be} the end."

 

This is a prompt list created by elsiemcclay on tumblr. The challenge is to take the angsty prompts and make them fluffy, and vice versa for the fluffy prompts.

**ANGST**

1A.“No–no! Stay _awake_! Please!”

2A.“I’m sick and tired of you treating me like this!”

**3A. “You can’t leave!”**

4A. “It’ll all be over soon.”

5A.“Go, you have to leave me here!”

6A.“We have to get (her/him/them) back.”

7A.“I never loved you.” / “I’ll never love you.”

8A.“You left me.”

9A.“I’m still in love with you.”

10A. “Really?  My best friend?”

**FLUFF**

1B. “I’m in love with you, you know.”

2B.“Stop that! It tickles.”

3B.“I made this for you.”

4B.“Wow, you’re gorgeous.”

5B.“I’m going to marry you one day.”

6B.“Oh, just kiss me already.”

7B.“Mmm, keep doing that. Feels nice.”

8B.“You are my home.” / “I am home.”

9B.“Sh-sh.  It’s gonna be okay.  I’ve got you.”

10B.“Let’s run away together.”

 

Okay, fam. Let's do this.


	2. "Sorry, I-I thought you were Lettie."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Number forty from the sixty prompts list.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word Count: 775 
> 
> Notes: Wow, this turned out angstier than I originally planned. Oh well :) 
> 
> WARNING: Implied child neglect

The office door slammed shut behind him.

PT hissed a breath out, running his fingers through his hair. He kicked the chair to his desk across the room and swiped a hand across the wooden table, sending a glass to shatter against the far wall.

The look of hurt that had crossed Phillip's eyes didn't register to PT until he attempted to steady his breathing in his office, the utter silence leaving his conscience to berate his actions. It was unfair, he shouldn't be angry; he should have been apologizing to Phillip. But he couldn't do that yet, he needed to cool off.

What was the argument even about? PT couldn't even focus long enough to remember. All he could recall Phillip bringing up a issue that escalated into an argument, and he snapped.

_"Go on, run back to your inheritance and parties and rich parents. It's not like we'll die without you!"_

Those were his exact words.

The harsh impact of his retort had him sinking against the wall, head bowed in his forearms in shame. A bottle of whiskey would've been nice right about now.

He of all people shouldn't have thrown that remark in Phillip's face—not when he'd been on his own before, for a long time. It meant something to look after, to care for, to watch something thrive because of you. Especially when you had nothing, because it was such a beautiful feeling for something to need, depend on you.

But he just took that feeling away from Phillip.

The door creaked open, and he further buried his face into his arms.

"I'm going to apologize, Lettie, I promise, just give me a moment. I can't...I just can't face him right now."

His voice cracked and he hated himself in that moment, because no one gets to see Phineas Taylor Barnum in any other state than his normal carefree, energetic self.

"I've screwed up, haven't I?"

The other person was silent, and PT wasn't sure if he was thankful or wishing she would do away with the silence.

When the silence was finally broken, it was Phillip that spoke. "A little."

His head snapped up in surprise long enough to meet the blue eyes belonging to the man who leaned against the closed door, then bowed again as he stared at the fabric coating his arms. Heat flushed through his cheeks.

"Sorry, I—I thought you were Lettie."

"Obviously...." Phillip said, more of a mumble. Hesitantly, he made his way next to Barnum and allowed himself to slide down the wall with him. "I'm sorry," he said quietly.

P. T. winced. "You shouldn't be apologizing, Phil," he wrung his hands. "What I said was uncalled for and not true, it was a grab at words. I know that doesn't excuse it, I-I just wanted you to know, and—"

"Phin," Phillip interrupted, waving his hand. "Stop. Just stop....That hurt, PT," he admitted.

He remained silent.

"My whole life, I—" PT was surprised to hear Phillip's voice crack. "I've been swept aside, kept quiet, just there. Not really...doing anything. That kind of changed for a while, when I was writing plays, but I threw that away for the circus. For you."

That made PT feel worse. No matter, he deserved it.

"For once, I felt depended on. Like I made a difference."

Tears sprung to his eyes and his heart broke. The one thing he'd sworn to always be for the one he loved, he'd done the exact opposite for the one who'd been the best for him.

"Phillip, listen to me." The gentle strength of his voice startled him. Silent tears were actually running down the younger man's face. "This is your place. With me, with the circus, we're family and that'll never change. Have you met me? Have you seen how impulsive and rash I can be?"

A tiny swell of belief started to shine through the tears in Phillip's eyes.

"I can't tell you how sorry I am, Phil, and how wrong I was."

Nothing else was said for a moment. PT was afraid he'd said the wrong thing, that he hadn't said enough, that Phillip would hate him forever, or worse: that Phillip wouldn't believe him. That was, until Phillip shifted his body and rested his head on PT's shoulder. He took that as his cue to envelop the younger man in his arms, and held him securely to his chest. Phillip's form shuddered in silent sobs.

"I love you," PT murmured softly through his hair, peppering little kisses on his scalp, "I love you. Nothing will ever change that."

"I know," Phillip hiccuped. "I know."


	3. "You can't leave me!"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 3A from the angst to fluff list.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word count: 1042  
> No warnings apply!

Phillip delicately turned the page of his book, eyes fervently scanning across the words. The protagonist just had a run-in with their nemesis, things were getting intense, and looking grim. He barely registered the door to his office being opened or the footsteps that approached behind the sofa he lazed on. Just as the tension of the situation was being dealt with, the book was plucked from his hands and out of view.

He was turned around in an instant, knees perched on top of the cushioned seat. "Phineas Taylor Barnum, hand my book back right this instant." He held his hand out expectantly.

PT held the novel high above his head when Phillip reached out for it, earning a huff and a stomp from the younger man. PT held his finger out. "Not until I get a kiss." The look on his face made Phillip want to throttle the man. How dare he look so smug, so in-control?

Phillip stood up, braced a foot on the back of the sofa, and launched off in an attempt to grab his book. PT simply dodged. Phillip landed in a crouch. His hands were empty.

When PT saw the feral look steaming in Phillip's face, the color drained from his own. "Oh, shit," was all that peeped from his lips. Then he broke out into a run out of the office, Phillip on his heels.

Surely, there was no chance in PT's favor. He was strong and fit for his age, but Phillip was younger. And faster. Much faster, as he was beginning to realize as he ran for his life around the halls of the circus building. He passed various friends and performers, yelling for Lettie. With no sign of his savior in sight, he resorted to his own methods of negotiation.

"This was the exact opposite reaction I was hoping for, Phillip!" he screamed as he scanned his surroundings for a hiding spot. It was hard to search for an inconspicuous place, though, when speeding past them. The thought crossed his mind to just give the book back, but no — he was not defeated so easily.

Phillip hadn't slowed down since the chase had first begun. His vision had tunneled around one target: PT Barnum, the fool keeping his book hostage. He did not answer his feeble attempt at a truce. No, this man had declared war. There was no turning back. In a surge of speed, Phillip cut through a couple of back-to-back rooms that opened up into a hall that PT would surely run through. He leaned forward, hiding in the door frame, waiting.

Footsteps pounding across the floor grew louder and louder until Phillip lunged out, pinning the other man to the wall. They grappled for the book until PT managed to lift it high above, bracing one hand against Phillip's chest. Phillip tried to leap up to it, but the strength of the older man's arms prevented it.

"Calm yourself. I'm the tall one."

Then Phillip went still, taking a deep and resigned breath. "Fine. If I kiss you, once, will you please give me my book back?" He let his gaze drift down to PT's lips for an exaggerated effect.

PT swallowed. "I think we can arrange that," he hummed.

Phillip let his fingers twist at the collars of PT's shirt, then pressed their lips together. His grip on the shirt tightened, pushing him back through a door down the hall. It was a storage closet with a wooden chair sitting, lonely, inside.

"Wanna get that out of there?" he mumbled against PT's lips.

He felt the other mouth pull into a smile. PT wordlessly caught the leg of the chair with his foot and practically threw it out the door. Phillip dropped his hands down to PT's hands, gently taking the book away.

"You may want free hands." He sauntered back outside towards the chair, as if to put it up. In a flash, he caught the doorknob and flung it shut, then propped the chair underneath the handle.

A fist banged loudly against the wood as soon as it was secured. "Phillip!"

Phillip allowed himself a whoop of triumph. "That's why you should never steal my book. Ever again!"

There was one last pound, then it stopped. An image of PT propped up against the door with his forehead, arms sagging down at his side crossed his mind, and he found it quite satisfying.  "Come on," he whined. "You can't leave me!"

Phillip opened his book and located his previous position. "Don't worry, Barnum, I'll come get you when I'm done with the book," he promised as he began walking back towards his office. "I've only got...a hundred pages left."

"PHILLIP!"

 

(An additional ending)

 

"Hey, PT, I've got those files you asked for—" Phillip looked up from the stack of folders in his hand to see PT slumped over his desk, fast asleep. He stopped in the doorway, then tiptoed to the bookshelf and gently set the folders down. He made a move to nestle PT's coat over his shoulders, but froze with a thought.

He stealthily creeped out of the office and down the stairs all the way to the water faucet backstage. A bucket rested nearby. Lettie was there, fanning herself as she rested. She must've seen the evil glint in his eye.

"What are you up to, Carlyle?"

He continued to fill the bucket up, almost to the brim before shutting the water off. "Don't worry," he assured her. "It's something that needs to be done."

If she suspected anything, she didn't stop him from returning up the stairs to PT's office. Phillip thought he even saw a knowing smirk upon her lips.

Now in the room, he carefully used the chair opposite of the desk to help him up to the desk. He was ready to run. With a grin cutting across his face, he allowed the water to shower onto the older man's body. He snapped up in a shocked and rude awakening.

" _Who's the tall one now, asshole?!_ " Was all that Phillip shouted before bolting downstairs.

PT vaulted over the desk towards him, shouting profane threats of what he'd do once he caught him.

Phillip laughed the entire time, the ecstatic feeling of victory washing over him.


	4. "I don't know if I can keep going without you."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Number fourteen from the sixty prompts list.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word count: 414  
> WARNING: Implied nightmare/Minor PTSD

Phillip absently combed his fingers through the head of dark curls resting in his lap, quiet snores filling the otherwise silent living room. Numbness had taken his legs, propped up on an ottoman, long ago, but he'd rather suffer through that than wake PT. His body lay curled up across the couch, rising and falling peacefully with every breath taken.   


Looking away from his book, he traced a thumb across the older man's eyebrow, observing his long lashes. Part of him wished those hazel-brown eyes were open, gazing into his blue ones, but he was so peaceful when he slept. It gave him another opportunity to memorize every inch of his face.

He finally let his gaze drift back up to his book, still caressing fingers through PT's hair. After a while, soft whimpers snapped Phillip out of his reading. Phin's chest was rising and falling quicker now, with a small crease forming in his brow. Phillip tossed his book to the ottoman and gently shook his shoulder.

"PT?"

He didn't wake up. Phillip repositioned his arms so that he was cradling his head and began lightly slapping his cheek. "C'mon, Phin, wake up."

With a sharp inhale, PT flinched awake, eyes landing on Phillip as he let out a shuddering breath. "Phil..."

He let a smile cross his face in hopes that it would calm the other, even though it contradicted his concern. "What's wrong? Bad dream?"

PT twisted so that he could hug Phillip's waist, burying his face in his shirt. "I was looking for you, in the fire, and...I just couldn't find you." He was silent for a minute, and Phillip didn't press him any further. When PT spoke again, his words were quiet and hesitant. "I don't know if I can keep going without you."

If Phillip Carlyle loved Phineas Taylor Barnum before, he was even more in love with him now. It was only a few words, but the confession was huge and the impact slammed into his heart with a resounding pang. His heart had been melted, and Phineas's hands held the liquid.   


Phillip pressed his lips to the side of PT's head. "I'm not going anywhere, Phin," he murmured into his hair.   


He didn't fail to notice the subtle sigh that escaped his partner's lips. Phillip wriggled his body so that he could lay parallel to the other man, nose to nose. Nothing else was said, and they fell asleep against each other, in silence.


	5. “He’s missing.” / “You’re much too drunk to be thinking clearly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word Count: 1631  
> Warning: vague alcohol abuse, general distress/sadness.   
> Notes: Aaaah I can't post this on tumblr yet for the person who requested it, sorry! I'll try to get my laptop working ASAP. There was a user on AO3 who named the bartender from The Other Side "Barry." I can't remember their username though, so if you know them, please give them a shoutout! I've adopted that name headcanon. I also merged this with another prompt from Britt's list, so that's two birds with one stone! I hope you guys like this.

Pain gripped his heart like a vice. Its burning touch numbed the alcohol sliding down his throat. The hue of the liquid, soft and warm, sent aches of longing through his soul despite his puzzledness about it, until a flash of hazel eyes the exact same color invaded his thoughts, which explained it all.

Phillip gripped the bottle of whiskey harder, jaw clenching as tears threatened to spill, and hurled it across his living room. The sound of glass shattering was a cacophony in his head, earning a wince and urge to clamp his hands over his ears, but he let loose an angry, incoherent scream instead.

Those hazel eyes had been filled with life and mischief and happiness—until Phillip's had flickered down to his lips. Then they turned confused and surprised and _doubtful_.

Phillip, why'd you have to go and put yourself out there? Stupid, stupid, you know better than this. You are better than this. He's a man. You're a man. It's not supposed to be that way. You're a freak. And he knows that now, the one person you allowed yourself to fall hopelessly in love with, thinks you're a freak. Sees you as a freak. Not human.

This time, Phillip did clamp clammy palms over his ears. It did absolutely nothing to mute the hate echoing through his head, scornful thoughts rebounding through his skull.

_"I—I'm not..." P. T. swallowed hard, blinking. Blushing._

_Every ounce of courage that Phillip had built up withered away with those words, his reaction, and his confidence crumbled away just as easily as crushed peanut shells. He wouldn't allow this man, the man he loved, to see him at such a low. So he walked out and didn't look back._

Phillip grabbed his coat, not bothering to put it on before stepping out of his apartment.

—

P. T. hadn't left his office since Phillip did an hour ago. The warm, spring air filtered through the parted canvas flaps marking the entrance of his makeshift office, sending tendrils of air through his curls. It was soothing until he found himself imagining the air as fingers. Fingers that belonged to someone that wasn't Charity, for the first time after they'd parted as friends.

He'd loved no one other than Charity his entire life. They knew each other a short amount of time as children, but it provided a connection that stopped him from giving into the pleasure and temptation of others that would have come along after he and Charity were separated. Many years were spent together once reunited, years full of love and passion and closeness, but as the time ticked on, he came to realize that the love he felt for her, while true and strong, wasn't the same love she felt for him. He sought friendship and the idea of being loved. She wanted a partner, to love in a different way.

The lack of physical contact he'd had since their parting, not lustful and sexual, but pure and intimate, had his heart pinched with loneliness. It was a loneliness that desired warmth, from a body, a strong body. Toned and lean and tan—

The faceless person he'd always imagined having such feelings for, the one he tried to place Charity as, but always felt off for some reason, suddenly came into view. The realization had his eyes widening, tearing up in relief, after years of not feeling quite right, finally being certain of his feelings. Phillip. He had to find Phillip. His approach had surprised, and frankly, scared him. It was new, uncharted territory being with anybody other than Charity. And he'd allowed that to show through his reaction.

As if on cue, just as he was about to rise to find the younger man, Lettie's head poked through the canvas flaps. "Hey, Barnum? Have you seen Carlyle around?"

"He left here about an hour ago," he said, biting back his immediate flashback to their earlier encounter, not wanting to reveal any sort of indication of how just the mention of Phillip made his insides jump.

She frowned. "We were all supposed to meet up at the bar, Barry said he'd let us come in after hours sometimes. The rest of us are together, but no one's seen him."

His breath hitched. "He's missing?" He tried to ignore the way his voice cracked on the word, blood turning to ice.

She froze, a questioning look beginning to seep into her eyes. "What'd you say to him?"

"What?"

"I can see it in your face, Barnum. Something happened between you two."

If Lettie of all people deemed him a freak as he explained what happened earlier, then she wasn't a genuine friend. But she did understand, even listened attentively to P. T. go on about his feelings (and lack thereof) for Charity. After a few minutes of conversation, she mulled it over with a fist under her chin.

"You need to tell him how you feel."

"Wha—how?"

An incredulous look crossed her face. "I don't know, you're the one who's going to be telling him. But you need to find him fast and do it." Then a more concerned look softened her features. "That boy's no good with feelings."

Giving a heartfelt hug and thankful nod to Lettie, he sprinted from the tent and into the night.

—

Phillip's hands ached. His head ached. His heart ached.

Everything was fuzzy—the occasional street lamp was nothing more than a blurry orb of light that seemed to drive stakes through his eyes. He turned his back on the open street and shrunk further into the dark alley that echoed his misery.

The cuts across his knuckles stung. He wondered if he'd find blood on the rough brick surface of the wall, but he was probably too intoxicated to locate stains in the dark. But the pain grounded him, gave him something to focus on, and somehow allowed him to block out the harsh regret stabbing at him.

In a burst of sudden nausea, he doubled over, one arm planted against the wall, and dry heaved. His insides twisted and contracted painfully, hardly giving him any comfort to even breathe, much less move. As the sickness came to a stop, he collapsed to his knees. The world around him sounded as if it were submerged under water.

_"Phillip?"_

_"...Phil...?"_

Hands were on his shoulders, pulling him back and into someone's broad chest. It was a strong embrace, yet gentle and familiar and felt like something he had always longed for. The scent of faint cologne and peanuts brought a name to the tip of his tongue, but he still couldn't place it. But that voice, rich and smooth, enticing and soft but able to snap into a dangerous tone in just a second....

"P...P. T.?" He slurred.

Barnum was on his knees, chest supporting Phillip's back.

"Phillip, darling, what have you gotten yourself into?"

The term "darling" made his stomach flutter. The warmth of his breath softly caressed the back of his neck. A sigh managed to escape past his lips.

"Let's get you home."

Home. The place he had just gotten away from. Part of him wanted to resist as he was pulled to his feet, but his knees buckled without consent anyways. His weight was caught against P. T.'s side.

He huffed, but hefted Phillip up into his arms and began the walk home.

—

"You'd better thank me for this in the morning, Phil, my arms are falling off."

Phillip wasn't aware that he'd fallen asleep until the comment woke him. He was tucked against a warm chest, in strong arms, who'd they belong to—?

"Phin...Phin?"

"I'm here," he answered softly.

But hadn't he denied Phillip? Memories of that night came crashing back, along with the regret and embarrassment the resulted from his impulsive risk. He groaned as he registered being lowered onto a bed.

"'M sorry," he mumbled. "Was stupid, didn't mean to...to..."

P. T. pulled his shoes off. "Don't apologize, I...I should be the one apologizing."

For a brief moment, a hint of hope fluttered into existence. Maybe...maybe he'd misinterpreted his reaction. The sincere tone prompted Phillip to crack his eyes open, only to be startled by his surroundings. This was not his house. Not his room. Not his bed. This was P. T's home.

Anything he had to say in return was silenced by the mattress dipping underneath P. T.'s body, next to him. The sudden intimate proximity radiated warmth, and not just figuratively, so Phillip scrunched himself closer. Eyes closed, he trusted his knowledge of the man's figure, and let his lips trail up to his neck, allowing the barest of contact. He felt P. T.'s adam's apple bob in nervous energy.

"Not yet, Phil," his voice was low and raspy, because every fiber of him wanted to follow Phillip's lead and lose himself to pleasure. "You're much too drunk to think clearly."

Phillip let out a small whine and opened his eyes blearily. The raw, unfiltered part of him permissed by the alcohol wanted to crash his lips against P. T.'s, cram his tongue down his throat, suck bruises onto flesh, claim him as his own. But one look at those hazel eyes, now innocent and in love and _sure of it_ , softened his lust. His fingers found dark curls, delicately combing them over his scalp, and smiled faintly at the immediate relief that seemed to wash over P. T. His eyes closed.

"We'll talk in the morning," P. T. finally said, voice becoming laced with sleep.

Face to face, hardly room for a sheet of paper between them, they fell asleep in each other's embrace. Phillip had peaceful rest in the arms around him.


	6. "He's missing." / "You're much to drunk to think clearly."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Word Count: 1631  
> Warning: vague alcohol abuse, general distress/sadness. mention of dry heaving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: There was a user on AO3 who named the bartender from The Other Side “Barry.” I can’t remember their username though, so if you know them, please give them a shout-out! I’ve adopted that name headcanon. I also merged this with another prompt from BuddyImpala‘s list (“You’re much too drunk to think clearly”) so that’s two birds with one stone!

Pain gripped his heart like a vice. Its burning touch numbed the alcohol sliding down his throat. The hue of the liquid, soft and warm, sent aches of longing through his soul despite his confusion about it, until a flash of hazel eyes the exact same color invaded his thoughts, which explained it all.

Phillip gripped the bottle of whiskey harder, jaw clenching as tears threatened to spill, and hurled it across his living room. The sound of glass shattering was a cacophony in his head, earning a wince and urge to clamp his hands over his ears, but he let loose an angry, incoherent scream instead.

Those hazel eyes had been filled with life and mischief and happiness—until Phillip’s had flickered down to his lips. Then they turned confused and surprised and _doubtful_.

Phillip, why’d you have to go and put yourself out there? Stupid, stupid, you know better than this. You are better than this. He’s a man. You’re a man. It’s not supposed to be that way. You’re a freak. And he knows that now. The one person you allowed yourself to fall hopelessly in love with, thinks you’re a freak. Sees you as a freak. Not human.

This time, Phillip did clamp clammy palms over his ears. It did absolutely nothing to mute the hate echoing through his head, scornful thoughts rebounding through his skull.

_“I—I’m not…” P. T. swallowed hard, blinking. Blushing._

_Every ounce of courage that Phillip had built up withered away with those words, his reaction, and his confidence crumbled away just as easily as crushed peanut shells. He wouldn’t allow this man, the man he loved, to see him at such a low. So he walked out and didn’t look back._

Phillip grabbed his coat, not bothering to put it on before stepping out of his apartment.

—

P. T. hadn’t left his office since Phillip did an hour ago. The warm, spring air filtered through the parted canvas flaps marking the entrance of his makeshift office, sending tendrils of air through his curls. It was soothing until he found himself imagining the air as fingers. Fingers that belonged to someone that wasn’t Charity, for the first time after they’d parted as friends.

He’d loved no one other than Charity his entire life. They knew each other a short amount of time as children, but it provided a connection that stopped him from giving into the pleasure and temptation of others that would have come along after he and Charity were separated. Many years were spent together once reunited, years full of love and passion and closeness, but as the time ticked on, he came to realize that the love he felt for her, while true and strong, wasn’t the same love she felt for him. He sought friendship and the idea of being loved. She wanted a partner, to love in a different way.

The lack of physical contact he’d had since their parting, not lustful and sexual, but pure and intimate, had his heart pinched with loneliness. It was a loneliness that desired warmth, from a body, a strong body. Toned and lean and tan—

The faceless person he’d always imagined having such feelings for, the one he tried to place Charity as, but always felt off for some reason, suddenly came into view. The realization had his eyes widening, tearing up in relief, after years of not feeling quite right, finally being certain of his feelings. Phillip. He had to find Phillip. His approach had surprised, and frankly, scared him. It was new, uncharted territory being with anybody other than Charity. And he’d allowed that to show through his reaction.

As if on cue, just as he was about to rise to find the younger man, Lettie’s head poked through the canvas flaps. “Hey, Barnum? Have you seen Carlyle around?”

“He left here about an hour ago,” he said, biting back his immediate flashback to their earlier encounter, not wanting to reveal any sort of indication of how just the mention of Phillip made his insides jump.

She frowned. “We were all supposed to meet up at the bar, Barry said he’d let us come in after hours sometimes. The rest of us are together, but no one’s seen him.”

His breath hitched. “He’s missing?” He tried to ignore the way his voice cracked on the word, blood turning to ice.

She froze, a questioning look beginning to seep into her eyes. “What’d you say to him?”

“What?”

“I can see it in your face, Barnum. Something happened between you two.”

If Lettie of all people deemed him a freak as he explained what happened earlier, then she wasn’t a genuine friend. But she did understand, even listened attentively to P. T. go on about his feelings (and lack thereof) for Charity. After a few minutes of conversation, she mulled it over with a fist under her chin.

“You need to tell him how you feel.”

“Wha—how?”

An incredulous look crossed her face. “I don’t know, you’re the one who’s going to be telling him. But you need to find him fast and do it.” Then a more concerned look softened her features. “That boy’s no good with feelings.”

Giving a heartfelt hug and thankful nod to Lettie, he sprinted from the tent and into the night.

—

Phillip’s hands ached. His head ached. His heart ached.

Everything was fuzzy—the occasional street lamp was nothing more than a blurry orb of light that seemed to drive stakes through his eyes. He turned his back on the open street and shrunk further into the dark alley that echoed his misery.

The cuts across his knuckles stung. He wondered if he’d find blood on the rough brick surface of the wall, but he was probably too intoxicated to locate stains in the dark. But the pain grounded him, gave him something to focus on, and somehow allowed him to block out the harsh regret stabbing at him.

In a burst of sudden nausea, he doubled over, one arm planted against the wall, and dry heaved. His insides twisted and contracted painfully, hardly giving him any comfort to even breathe, much less move. As the sickness came to a stop, he collapsed to his knees. The world around him sounded as if it were submerged under water.

_“Phillip?”_

_“…Phil…?”_

Hands were on his shoulders, pulling him back and into someone’s broad chest. It was a strong embrace, yet gentle and familiar and felt like something he had always longed for. The scent of faint cologne and peanuts brought a name to the tip of his tongue, but he still couldn’t place it. But that voice, rich and smooth, enticing and soft but able to snap into a dangerous tone in just a second….

“P…P. T.?” He slurred.

Barnum was on his knees, chest supporting Phillip’s back.

“Phillip, darling, what have you gotten yourself into?”

The term “darling” made his stomach flutter. The warmth of his breath softly caressed the back of his neck. A sigh managed to escape past his lips.

“Let’s get you home.”

Home. The place he had just gotten away from. Part of him wanted to resist as he was pulled to his feet, but his knees buckled without consent anyways. His weight was caught against P. T.’s side.

He huffed, but hefted Phillip up into his arms and began the walk home.

—

“You’d better thank me for this in the morning, Phil, my arms are falling off.”

Phillip wasn’t aware that he’d fallen asleep until the comment woke him. He was tucked against a warm chest, in strong arms, who’d they belong to—?

“Phin…Phin?”

“I’m here,” he answered softly.

But hadn’t he denied Phillip? Memories of that night came crashing back, along with the regret and embarrassment the resulted from his impulsive risk. He groaned as he registered being lowered onto a bed.

“’M sorry,” he mumbled. “Was stupid, didn’t mean to…to…”

P. T. pulled his shoes off. “Don’t apologize, I…I should be the one apologizing.”

For a brief moment, a hint of hope fluttered into existence. Maybe…maybe he’d misinterpreted his reaction. The sincere tone prompted Phillip to crack his eyes open, only to be startled by his surroundings. This was not his house. Not his room. Not his bed. This was P. T’s home.

Anything he had to say in return was silenced by the mattress dipping underneath P. T.’s body, next to him. The sudden intimate proximity radiated warmth, and not just figuratively, so Phillip scrunched himself closer. Eyes closed, he trusted his knowledge of the man’s figure, and let his lips trail up to his neck, allowing the barest of contact. He felt P. T.’s adam’s apple bob in nervous energy.

“Not yet, Phil,” his voice was low and raspy, obvious that every fiber of him wanted to follow Phillip’s lead and lose himself to pleasure. “You’re much too drunk to think clearly.”

Phillip let out a small whine and opened his eyes blearily. The raw, unfiltered part of him released by the alcohol wanted to crash his lips against P. T.’s, cram his tongue down his throat, suck bruises onto flesh, claim him as his own. But one look at those hazel eyes, now innocent and in love and _sure of it_ , softened his lust. His fingers found dark curls, delicately combing them over his scalp, and smiled faintly at the immediate relief that seemed to wash over P. T. His eyes closed.

“We’ll talk in the morning,” P. T. finally said, voice becoming laced with sleep.

Face to face, hardly room for a sheet of paper between them, they fell asleep in each other’s embrace. Phillip had peaceful rest in the arms around him.


	7. What We Do For People We Care About

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> requested by just2amthings on tumblr: "imagine a party at the circus and barnum gets hella drunk and just disappears in the middle of it and everyone assumes he went home and later phillip goes to fetch some stuff from a storage area or closet or whatever and he finds barnum just fucking crashed out on the floor EXCEPT his entrance immediately wakes barnum up and this wasn't going to be a prompt but :)"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok you should just know by now that i’m gonna twist like everything into angst so here’s so angst with a fluffy ending for you. hope you like it becuase i had fun writing it!
> 
> Word Count: 1,518 or something
> 
> Warnings: Vague but implied child neglect/abuse, obviously Barnum gets drunk so if you can’t read that then you may wanna skip, mention of vomit but he doesn’t get sick, also some implied/referenced homophobia from who else but Phillip’s father

Phineas typically tries to steer away from alcohol. The circus can chalk it up to whatever they think, that it’s to remain healthy, that he doesn’t want to develop a reliance on it (which Phillip would understand), or that he simply doesn’t like it. They don’t ask why not only out of respect for his decision, but it’s really not important enough that they feel the need to ask. Phineas is fine with that.

However, one occasion rises where he’s eventually persuaded to loosen up and have fun. It’s the one year anniversary of the day he and Phillip had an unofficial, under-the-radar wedding. It’s just one drink, he promises himself, and gives in. With periodic kisses from his husband, the loud and passionate celebration from the circus, he feels at ease enough to do so. One drink turns into two, then into three, and after that, it’s all a blur. His system isn’t used to all of the alcohol, so it’s no surprise that even with something as light as beer, he’s well beyond drunk. Of course, Phillip has heavily restricted his alcohol intake, but it’s a special occasion. He can make an exception for a glass or two, and it’s not like he’s easily intoxicated.

At some point in the chaos, Phineas excuses himself to go grab his jacket. Who knew it’d be so chilly tonight? And if in the darkness of his office, a sudden heaviness to his eyelids and exhaustion in his limbs set in, no one has to know if he closes his eyes in the comfort of the space under his desk for just…a few…moments…

-

Twenty minutes pass. Phillip feels a pang if guilt stab through his gut at the realization that Phineas has been gone this long and he’s only now taken a worrying to it. Where did he say he was going? His words were as slurred together as molasses, but he can’t exactly blame him since he’s not even sure Phineas has been drunk before.

He winces. The first hangover’s always the worst.

So he slips away from the tent in search of his husband. There’s no way of knowing where to check first, seeing as how in the intoxicated mind, the animal stables could be the bathroom or the storage area could be his office. Oh! He did say he was going to grab his jacket, didn’t he?

Phillip jogs lightly to the tent they share as a joint makeshift office, ready to ease his mind of Phin’s whereabouts.

“Phineas?” He calls out, making sure his voice is loud enough to have a chance at alerting a drunk man.

By some stoke of luck, a thump sounds under the other man’s desk, followed by a groan. Edging around cautiously, Phillip peers under the desk. Phineas is curled up in a ball, using his wadded-up jacket as a pillow to rest his head on his knees.

A fond smile passes over his face. “Come on, Phin, you can’t sleep here.”

Although he’s half asleep and buzzed up t his eyeballs, Phillip isn’t prepared for the growl he lets out. “Fuck _off,_ Dad.”

“Hey,” his brow furrows. “Language. It’s me. Phil.”

Phineas immediately winces. “I know, ‘m sorry, you don’ like cursing. But I’m _tired_.” He acknowledges the jacket in his grasp, and his face contorts in disgust. He throws it aside. “C’mon, ‘m exhausted! Been up all night fixing all these damn _clothes_. ‘M sick of it. I don’t care, shove me in the closet if you want to, but I just wanna sleep.”

Phillip feels an absurd amount of unease gnawing at him. He’s never heard this. There was never any talk of his father. And with Phillip’s own history with his parents, that makes him even more on edge with where this conversation is going. “I’m not going to throw you in the closet. Phineas—“

“Oh, is it the belt this time?” He mocks. “Don’t care. Don’t care. Just wanna sleep.”

Phillip sighs, but pats him on the knee and doesn’t miss how tense his muscles are. “Go to sleep, bud.”

Something passes through his eyes that he can only identify as leeriness. Distrust. But he settles back into sleep nonetheless and is completely out of it in no time.

Phillip takes a moment to compose himself, weighing whether or not this is a serious conversation they need to have later. He decides to figure it out later. Right now, what’s important is taking care of his husband.

After making it back to the circus tent, he grabs a bucket and begins filling it with water at one of the pumps, while putting Lettie and Charles in charge of a highly effective hangover cure. Lettie gives a fond eye roll and Charles laughs, but they hop on the task.

Phillip figures that with Phineas being as out of it as he is, it’ll be safe to pull his jacket out from under his head without waking him. He’ll want a dry, warm article of clothing in a bit. Thankfully, he’s got an overnight bag on the many occasions that he stays late.

“Sorry, Phin,” He apologizes before sending the water crashing onto his person.

He splutters awake, gasping and coughing and rapidly blinking the water out of his eyes. He pushes the wet locks of hair stuck to his forehead back. Betrayal contorts his features. “What the _fuck!?”_

“You’re the one who gorged himself on beer,” Phillip defends with a scolding tone, giving him a pointed look. “With your luck, you probably would’ve drowned in your vomit by morning. Come on, let’s get you dried off.”

“This happ’ns every time I get drunk,” he slurs. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. This is what we do for people we care about.”

Phineas mumbles something incoherent but finally manages to crawl out from underneath the desk, admittedly with Phillip’s help, and has to make two attempts to get to his feet. It takes a while to unclothe, find a spare towel to dry off with, and wrestle him into new clothes, but they finally make it back to the main gathering with Phillip’s arm secured around Phin’s shoulder. He’d probably run into the bleachers otherwise.

When met with the laughter of rowdy chatter, Phineas groans. “Loud, that’s really loud.”

Phillip’s first idea is to shout at them to be quiet, but…that would sort of defeat the purpose. He waves his arm to grab their attention and holds a finger to his lips. Their volume dies down to a few stifled bouts of laughter that can’t be contained, but it eases the stabbing pains rebounding throughout Phineas’s skull.

Lettie hands him a glass with an ugly shade of a strange-textured liquid inside.

“This recipe’s been handed down through my family,” Charles says. “My mom swears by it.”

He takes a whiff and immediately gags. He can’t name the ingredients, but whatever they are, are _not_ meant to be mixed.

“And from my own experience, I’ve added a few helping ingredients.” Lettie gives him that mother look that no one is thrilled to see, when she gives you something to do that you are not happy about. “Drink up, Barnum.”

He feebly looks to Phillip for any sort of support on his side, but is met with a nod that tells him to follow Lettie’s instructions. “This better not be one of your attempts to kill me,” he resigns, “because you know I’ll just come back and haunt your asses.”

He plugs his nose and starts downing the cure. Charles starts chanting, “Chug! Chug! Chug!” To which they all pick up on. They cheer quietly when he’s done, courteous of his headache, even though he sways on his feet. Phillip catches his elbow before he embarrasses himself.

“I think it’s time for us to clock out,” he announces, helping Phineas put his coat on. “Thank you all for the celebration, it means a lot to me, and it would to Phin if he was sober.”

The comment’s met with a series of chuckles, but they say their goodbyes and part ways.

Phillip’s usually the one with a strong arm around him as they walk the streets late at night, if no one watches. It’s nice to switch it up for once if the circumstances of tonight are omitted. It feels good to be the protector this time. The caretaker. He’s lost count of how many times Phineas has been there for him; in the middle of the night after a horrible nightmare sending him back to the night of the fire, holding him after a meeting with his father ended in the senior berating him to tears for his “unnatural” love, even the rare night of him breaking and reaching for the bottle. Phineas was there. He was his rock. His lifeline.

Hearing him earlier, thinking that Phillip was his father, unsettled him. After all that they’ve been through together and he never brings this up? Phillip of all people would understand. For tonight and tomorrow, he’ll shower Phineas with affection and love. Then, maybe, he’ll gently approach the situation. Let him be the one to talk it out.

And he’ll be there for him. Because that’s what they do for each other.


End file.
